


Like No Other

by kay_emm_gee



Series: Four Corners [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 17:25:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4795991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke has a thing for Bellamy’s shirts, and his hands, and most of all, the feeling she gets when she looks at him and knows what her future is going to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like No Other

Clarke felt fabric graze her stomach, followed shortly by a waft of cool morning air. Her breath hitched in anticipation when warm hands, Bellamy’s hands, drifted up under the hem of her t-shirt—his shirt, actually, because even though she had returned the first one she borrowed weeks ago, she somehow still ended up always stealing more—and he chuckled under his breath.

“I knew you were awake,” he mumbled into her side, his lips brushing against her newly revealed skin.

“Mmnmm,” she denied, eyelids still closed. It was early, too early for her to be up on a Saturday. Bellamy was a morning person, though, especially when it came to her. Not that she minded all that much, to be honest, because he was damn good with his hands, with his mouth, with everything. It had been two really, really great months with him, both in bed and out of it, so she supposed that she could deal with a little loss of sleep.

“Clarke,” he drawled, fingers dancing just barely against the underside of her breasts.

Suppressing a shiver, she cracked an eye open. Bellamy grinned up at her, and even as she tried to twist her expression into one of annoyance, she couldn’t help smiling back at him.

“You are,” she breathed, lingering sleepiness making the rest of her thought disappear before she could voice it.

“I am,” Bellamy concurred, reaching up to cup her breasts, stretching the fabric of the shirt as he did so. When his thumb circled her nipples, pressing and then flicking, she moaned softly.

“Good morning to you too,” he continued, sounding more than pleased with himself. “You took my shirt again.”

“I was cold,” she complained.

He shook his head in amusement, but she could see the heat in his eyes, that mild possessiveness that told her how much he really didn’t mind her thefts, how much he really liked seeing her in his clothing. She had seen a hint of it that night at the bar when he had lent her the first shirt, but it hadn’t been until a few weeks later, when she returned it, that she decided to do something about it (that something being making out with him on his couch, which in the following weeks had turned into a lot more).

“I can fix that,” he responded, teasing her a bit harder.

Despite the smugness in his tone, Clarke couldn’t help but arch into his grip a little, and he took her cue, shifting over her. He slipped in between her parting legs, a heavy, tantalizing weight pressing in all the right places. His hands slid around to the sides and back of her ribcage, gripping tightly as he brushed his thumbs teasingly under her breasts again.

“Bell,” she warned, squeezing her thighs to look him into place.

He laughed again, leaning down to give her a long, languid kiss. She couldn’t help but get lost in it, take her time with it, even as her body began to thrum for more. Apparently she was turning into  _that_  type of morning person, too. Bellamy kept it tantalizingly slow, though, fingers stroking down her sides, playing with the band of her underwear for far too long as they continued to kiss. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, she gripped his wrist and slid his hand under the band, pressing his fingers where she ached the most.

“Good fucking morning,” she mumbled against his lips before nipping them, then claiming them with more intensity this time.

Not to be outdone, Bellamy groaned roughly against her mouth as he moved his fingers down into her damp folds and back up repeatedly. Clarke hummed in pleasure as he ran his tongue against the seal of her lips, and she opened easily for him, arms wrapping around his neck to hold him close. When he slid a finger, then two into her, she gasped, hips rocking reflexively, more than ready for the friction.

Then the doorbell rang.

“Ignoring it,” Bellamy breathed at the same time she whispered, “Don’t you dare move.”

With a chuckle, he continued stroking her, but when the doorbell rang again, and again, and then a fourth time, he pumped her faster and more purposefully, no longer teasing. Pressure built, and her skin sang as she danced on the edge of pleasure.

“Fuck,” she panted, the swear turning into a cry as she came.

She didn’t have long to enjoy her release, or even think about returning the favor to Bellamy, because the sound of the front door swinging open had her muscles tensing again, and not in a good way.

“I’m going to kill my sister,” Bellamy growled as he hurriedly disentangled himself from Clarke. “And then take back her key, immediately.”

A little breathless and overheated, she propped herself up on her elbows as she watched him throw on sweatpants. With a tired  _stay here_ , he strode out of the bedroom. As Clarke caught her breath, feeling the heat slowly fade from her no doubt reddened cheeks, she caught snatches of the conversation between Bellamy and his sister.

Except it wasn’t his sister, Clarke realized, when the bedroom door swung open.

“It’s your fault you suck at hiding spare keys. I’m just going to be a minute, untwist your panties—oh, shit.”

Clarke stared at Raven, who was looking back at her with wide eyes. Bellamy stood behind her, looking somewhere between frustrated, dazed, and apologetic.

“ _Shit_ ,” Raven repeated. “What are you doing here?”

“You know each other?” Bellamy asked warily, but neither of them answered him.

Throat too thick to get the words out, Clarke just clutched the comforter to her chest in shock. She never expected to see Raven again, not after she had broken things off with Finn.

“Bellamy is my—we’re dating, have been for a few months,” Clarke answered her question slowly, dread pooling deep in her stomach. She hadn’t had the exclusivity conversation with him, assuming it had just been implied, something she would have to rectify soon. The universe couldn’t hate her this much, though, to put her in the same situation, with the same woman, again. There had to be another reason she was here.

The brunette’s eyes narrowed. “How many months?”

“Two?” Clarke replied hesitantly.

Raven’s gaze flicked upwards, turning contemplative as she mouthed some numbers. Then her shoulders slumped and she shook her head in relief. “Thank fuck.”

“You did the math?” Bellamy asked in a pointed tone as he skirted around her, walking towards Clarke. She took his hand when he held it out, squeezing it to tell him she understood.

“Just be glad you’re not getting your ass kicked,” Raven shot back sourly, but the red rising on her cheeks belied her embarrassment.

“So you two know each other?” He repeated, and Clarke choked out a laugh.

“Yes, you could say that,” she admitted, her mouth quirking up into a sardonic half-smile at Raven’s amused snort.

“Are you going to tell me how?” Bellamy prodded.

“No,” Clarke chimed, as Raven did the same.

Ignoring Bellamy’s huff, Raven turned her attention back to Clarke. “Since we seem to have a lot in common, I feel like we might actually need to be friends.”

“Seriously?” It wasn’t the worst idea, just a very surprising one.

Raven shrugged, pulling out her phone. “What’s your number?”

After a second of hesitation that had Raven raising her eyebrows inquiringly, Clarke rambled out her number. Bellamy ran his thumb over her knuckles in a confused but supportive gesture.

“So do you still want to look around?” Bellamy asked dryly when she slid her phone away. “Or do you believe me now?”

After a flash of annoyance crossed her face, Raven sighed, a defeated, sad sound. “You really haven’t seen it?”

“No,” Bellamy replied gently.

“If you do—”

“I’ll call you,” he promised.

“What are you looking for?” Clarke asked.

“My necklace,” Raven admitted, eyes flitting away from her gaze. “Finn gave it to me ages ago, and I didn’t realize I’d lost it until he asked where it was.”

“You’re back with him?” Clarke bit her lip, embarrassed she had let the question slip out.

“Yes,” Raven shot back, then swallowed. “No. I don’t know.”

Clarke nodded, knowing not to probe further. “If we see the necklace, we’ll let you know.”

Raven flashed them both a tight smile. “Thanks.”

She turned, shoulders tense as she swept through the door. Just before she disappeared, however, Clarke called out, “If you don’t text me, I’m going to think you really do hate me.”

Raven’s soft, scoffing but not unkind laughter echoed back into the room, and Clarke sighed in relief.

“So you’re really not going to tell me how you know Raven?”

Clarke looked up at Bellamy, who tightened his fingers around her own in reassurance. “You really want to know.”

“It doesn’t matter to me, but you look like you really need to talk about it.”

Clarke sighed, and then steeled herself to tell him, because he was probably right. “She’s the girlfriend. The one I unknowingly other woman-ed.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and recognition. “Oh shit.”

“What are the chances, right?” Clarke let out a dry laugh, already immensely glad she had told him the whole ordeal before, which was surprising in itself that she trusted him that much–or maybe not that surprising, she thought, watching him watch her with tenderness. 

“You okay?”

“Well, apparently I have a new friend now,” she joked, her voice not quite as light as she wanted it to be.

“Clarke,” he said softly.

“I’m okay,” she promised.

“Once more, with feeling,” he teased lightly. 

She laughed again, and warmth unfurled inside her, because he was trying so hard to make sure she was okay, that she was comfortable, just as he had the night they had met, then again on their first date. It was one of the many reasons was falling for him—hell, already had fallen for him.

“I’m okay,” she repeated, and this time she knew it was true.

As he continued to stare at her in concern, that warmth from earlier bubbled up into something stronger, more thrilling as her thoughts turned to what they had been doing before Raven had burst in. Letting a sly smile crawl onto her face, Clarke rose up onto her knees, leaning forward over the edge of the bed and into him: her arms around his neck, her chest arching into his chest, her lips inches from his mouth.

“So are we done talking now?” She murmured, her fingernails scraping lightly against the back of his neck, right below the ends of his dark curls. “Because I definitely don’t need to, not anymore.”

Bellamy answered her with a searing kiss, and she laughed into it, knowing that right here, in his arms and with the past behind her, was exactly where she was supposed to be.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a comedic scene but it just wasn't working, so surprise, surprise, I went with sweet and emotional.
> 
> I have a type okay lol.


End file.
